


you're such a pain in the ass ;; joe mazzello

by taylorsroger (buckyrogers)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 14:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyrogers/pseuds/taylorsroger
Summary: Joe loses himself while trying to impersonate John Deacon.





	you're such a pain in the ass ;; joe mazzello

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of swearing and anger. There may be a few mistakes? Sorry, keep in mind that English is not my first language. This is me finally writing something! I’m not sure how this turned out. It may be a bit dramatic? I wouldn’t know, I wrote this at 2a.m., when my dramatic ass rules myself. All I’m trying to say is that you’re good enough!

A silent curse traveled around the quiet apartment. Your mind slowly reached reality, being dragged to it by Joe’s voice. You slightly opened your eyes, and blinked repeatedly in an attempt to focus your darkened surroundings. It was happening again._  
_

_Again._

You pushed the navy blue blanket to the end of the mattress, dragging your sleepy body out of your bed. Your feet touched the cold wooden floor as though you were stepping into a gigantic ice-cream pool, causing violent shivers to quickly escalate your spine and a soft curse to escape from your lips. The yellow living room light invaded your bedroom through the door kept ajar before you went to bed a few hours prior, believing Joe would do the same.

The thought was useless. He stood in the middle of the living room, music sheet scattered around his shifting lanky figure. A beer bottle had been abandoned on the coffee table, its liquid warmer as the clock ticked causing big droplets of condensed water to slowly cascade down the dark glass and pool around it on the glass surface of the coffee table.

His eyes were slightly red due to tiredness, and dark circles surrounded them, but he refused to stop. He refused to stop _every night_.

“Again?”

Your voice shattered the silence he had trapped himself in. Its fragments cracked and plummeted to the ground, and he slowly dragged his bare feet across it in order to turn in your direction. His eyebrows were furrowed, a look of confusion twisting his features. The faded yellow shirt contrasted with the dark red pajama pants he wore in a weird color combination, causing you to cringe at the sight of the outfit.

“What do you expect me to answer?”

The bitterness in his voice reached your ears; his words seemed to be a harsh punch in your chest, knocking the air out of your lungs, rather than a proper answer to your sleepy yet preoccupied self.

“Yeah, again as we can see,” you noted to yourself while reaching for the warm beer bottle on the coffee table.

“Leave it there, YN,” Joe warned, pointing to the now wet and empty spot on the transparent surface of it. “I’m drinking it.”

“You’re definitely not drinking this.”

The alcoholic liquid splashed onto the kitchen sink, and the glass bottle clunked loudly when it reached the ground inside the slightly rusted metal bin.

“Fuck you,” he snarled, hands slowly reaching for his messy brown hair, and fingers wrapping around some locks as his look averted to the mess of music sheet around him.

“You’re such a pain in the ass, you know?” you muttered, turning around on your heels, your back pressing against one of the old kitchen counters, arms folding themselves over your chest.

“I should say the same about you,” he murmured almost incoherently as he kneeled on the wooden floor, fingers reaching for some specific music sheet. “Why don’t you go back to bed? Honestly, I’m trying to _work_.”

“Yeah, you woke me up so… I guess that’s not a great idea,” you answered, venom dripping from the words that left your lips. “Also, keep telling yourself that, Joe. That might become true if you say it repeatedly.”

Joe nervously bit the inside of his cheek, preventing a curse from escaping his lips. Being sleep deprived cultivated the arrogant side of his personality, which he knew, but seemed unfazed by it. His actions were unfathomable to you as he kept reaching for different music sheet only to scan the music imprinted on them and abandon them on the wooden floor. Your eyes brimmed with tears while you intently watched your boyfriend randomly move around. Joe had completely lost himself.

“You’re not working, Joe,” you uttered, voice trembling. “Not at all.

”_I am_, YN,“ he answered. "And I need it to be absolutely perfect. We’re talking about legends. I am _playing_ a legend. These music sheet need to get inside my head or Brian and Roger are wasting their time!”

“God, this is ridiculous.”

“What is ridiculous, YN?” Joe traipsed around the living room, stepping on several music sheet, oblivious to the importance he attributed to them seconds prior. His bare feet touched the wooden ground, reminding him of how cold the living room was, reminding him of how human he was. His eyes averted down to his feet, almost colorless due to the low temperature. “What is ridiculous?”

His reddened eyes met yours; a pained expression contorted his features. You silently stepped into the living room, eyes boring into Joe’s bloodshot ones while he intently watched your figure approach him as though being truly threatened by your presence. You had taken the beer bottle from him. What were you taking from him next?

“The amount of times I’ve had to say you’re good enough,” you retorted angrily, nails digging into your palms, half-moons burning into your skin. “That is ridiculous.”

“Fuck you,” Joe mumbled, shooting a disgusted frown at you. “That’s bullshit. Leave me alone, YN.”

“Guess it wasn’t a good idea sharing an apartment with you. I can’t watch you destroy yourself like that.”

“Destroy myself?” he spat, a churlish laugh contorting his features. “YN, I am _working_. We’re talking about a Freddie Mercury biopic, in which I’m playing a real person! This is _not _a random made-up character.”

Joe turned his back at you, aiming for the coffee table in the middle of the living room. His hands idly dangled near his body as his eyes focused on the water marks of the beer bottle left on the glass “Great, you threw my beer away. Again.”

“Aren’t you working, Joe?”

He sighed heavily, pressing the palm of his hands against his eyes. “Yes! Yes, I am! I’m _trying_ actually. You insist on interrupting me.”

You rolled your eyes at his words. “_Fine_. You know this is not healthy, Joe. I refuse to mend your pieces if you insist on destroying yourself.”

“Don’t bullshit me, YN.”

Silence engulfed your surroundings, annoyingly creeping up your body, pulling at your skin. Blood thumped loudly in your ears. You and Joe were hardly-ever at loggerheads. His reddened eyes and darkened bags under them were a crystal scream for help. Yet, Joe had been oblivious to his failing body. You could not stand watching him destroy himself in search for perfection. Not anymore.

A single tear slowly reached your lips, losing itself in the middle of them. A salty taste in your tongue pulled you back to reality. “Look at me, Joe.”

Joe’s figure crumbled before your eyes. His body collapsed against the nearest armchair arm. Tears brimmed in his hazel eyes as a strangled sob escaped from his lips. His arms embraced himself in an automatic manner. That gesture was the only one he allowed himself to feel against his skin after diving into that madness that strangled him. He wished he could hide that ridiculous, even comic, vulnerability. The cold pads of his fingers dig into his forearm skin. Why would you drag him into that situation?

Your body seemed to move itself. Your bare feet hesitantly touched the freezing wooden floor, abandoning the safe spot they had been planted in order to approach your boyfriend. Your eyes dived into his cowering figure. His brown hair had a few strands pointing in every direction. His eyes bore not only tiredness, but a complex galaxy of emotions hidden underneath it, instantly edging your curiosity to discover the depths of his being. His jawline was peppered with an irregular stubble, as though reflecting his inner self: unbalanced in the middle of those music sheet.

The pads of your fingers caressed the yellow sleeve of his shirt, descending to the exposed skin of his forearm. Transfixed eyes watched the movement of your fingers against Joe’s skin, dragging them to his hands, as though drawing patterns on an empty canvas, which later would turn into a masterpiece.

“God,” you murmured. A fragile smile crept up to your lips, slightly contorting different muscles of your face, so that the wrinkle of your eyes caused tears to stream down your cheekbones.

You hesitantly pulled Joe into a hug. As your hands reached his shoulders, you expected an angry remark or a callous gesture would be thrown at you, but his careworn figure showed no reaction. His head rested against your chest as your fingers slowly crept up the nape of his neck and tangled themselves in his messy hair. He exhaled loudly, a strangled sob left his lips.

“I’m… I’m so fucking tired,” he murmured against the fabric of your shirt, arms loosely wrapping around your lower back. “Christ, my head hurts. A lot. I’ve been having terrible headaches.”

You pressed your lips one against the other and closed your eyes at the way his voice sounded utterly broken. Although, Joe was still on tenterhooks that Brian and Roger might say he wasn’t good enough, he recognized he hadn’t been working for a long time. Instead, he had been diving into a mad universe, in which he had gotten trapped while searching for an illusory perfection. He anxiously exhaled, letting tears escape from his eyes and dampen your shirt.

“I’m sorry, YN,” he uttered weakly, fingers pulling at your shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“How many times will I have to say you are enough, Joe?” you uttered from above him.

“Hopefully, always,” he answered, letting a shy smile contort his lips while slowly untangling his arms from around your body. “I need you around to mend my pieces. I could never do that myself.”

His hazel eyes met yours. For the first time, there wasn’t any trace of anger in then, just tiredness. Your hands rested on his shoulders as you rolled your eyes at his words, failing to not smile. “This is the last time, Joe.”

“You know it isn’t,” he murmured, voice still trembling slightly, as his hands dried his wet cheeks, moving up to his eyes. A remaining sob left his lips.

“Yeah, I know, Joe.”

"Thank you,” he sniffled. “Thank you for sticking around, YN. I’m such a pain in the ass.”

“You’re an _enough_ pain in the ass, Joe.”


End file.
